Deep Time

by Rob Sangster

  Gano spoke up. “So your, uh, boyfriend is gone for months, or does he come in for a weekend now and then?”

  Gano was as subtle as a dump truck.

  “Six months straight on the platform. No exceptions unless, well, a couple of guys died.”

  “What about ‘the mill?’” Jack asked. “Can’t be any secrets there.”

  “Of course not.”

  “So we could go up there,” Jack said, “and do some market research about what they might want in a new or bigger grocery store? We could talk to people on their breaks or lunch hour.”

  She frowned. “There’s so much valuable stuff on the site that security is extremely tight. They even search the workers when they leave. Since they don’t know you, there’s no chance you’d get in.”

  Jack looked around at the men at other tables. “Some of the men here tonight work there?”

  “A lot of them. When the mill started back up, there was one eight-hour shift a day. Now there are three shifts, twenty-four-seven. The whole thing is much bigger than they said it would be when they got city council to approve it. Anyway, the economy is doing much better. It’s just that some of us worry.” She stopped and looked over at the bar.

  Jack saw she’d become more uncomfortable and was about to leave the table. He decided he better probe quickly. “A big operation like that must wind up with a lot of waste material after they’ve finished refining what comes in from the platform. What do they do with that?”

  “Well, there is a lot more than they told us there would be. Some people worry about that, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “What I’d be worried about,” Gano said, “is the chemicals they use getting into the river or the groundwater.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “What does that have to do with a grocery store?”

  Suddenly a stocky man wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers cap walked up, stood squarely behind Gano’s chair, and laid a heavy hand on his left shoulder.

  “Me and some of the other boys have been listening,” he growled across the table at Jack and nodded to three men sitting at the next table. “We think you’re spying. Maybe you got something against Mr. Barbas. Well, that don’t go in our town. Stand up!” He grabbed a handful of Gano’s shirt.

  “Clem, back off,” Molly ordered.

  “Take . . . your . . . hand . . . off . . . me.” Gano didn’t turn around or raise his voice.

  The man didn’t move his hand. Everyone in the tavern had stopped talking. Hank Williams singing Your Cheating Heart seemed much louder.

  “Don’t want any trouble,” Jack said.

  “You got trouble,” the man in the cap said. “Now get up and get out, or we’ll throw you out.” He jerked hard on Gano’s shirt.

  Gano’s right hand stretched forward, palm flat on the table. Jack saw it form a fist.

  “Gano, don’t—” but he was too late.

  Gano rotated his upper body slightly to his left, then swung back and drove his right elbow like a pile driver straight back into Clem’s crotch.

  “Yeeowww!” was followed by agonized moans as Pittsburgh hunched over, grabbed his balls, and collapsed, crashing into the table behind. Glasses shattered, followed by cries of outrage.

  Chairs scraped back around the room as men started toward Gano.

  Gano jumped to his feet and reached behind his back under his shirt. “Listen up!” he shouted. “I got a Glock 23 in my belt. Thirteen shots. And a Beretta in my ankle holster. Which one of you wants to go first?”

  No one moved.

  “Everybody calm down. I don’t plan on shootin’ nobody tonight.” He locked eyes with the men at the nearest table who’d been eavesdropping. “I don’t plan on gettin’ beaten up either. So let’s not be spillin’ blood all over Molly’s furniture. We’ll just walk out peaceful.” A few men raised both hands high, others backed away.

  “Sorry for the disturbance, Molly.”

  She crossed her arms and frowned. Gano stepped closer and held out his business card. She looked away, so he set it on the table in front of her.

  Jack didn’t walk out backward, but didn’t quite turn his back to the room either. After they were a block away, he asked Gano, “Ever see Bad Day at Black Rock?”

  Gano, vibrating with repressed energy, maintained his surface cool. “Nope.”

  “Spencer Tracy, who has only one arm, shows up in this small town and asks a lot of questions. The locals threaten him, because they have a community secret they’re ashamed of. The sheriff throws him out of town, and someone runs him off the road.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “It’ll come to you. Right now we better get the hell out to the airport before your airplane gets torched.”

  After a high-speed ride to the airport, they saw that the Cessna looked okay—no fire, no damage yet. Gano checked to make sure the motors hadn’t been tampered with. “Good time to advance to the rear. Let’s get airborne ASAP.”

  “Can’t do that. I set up a meeting with Steve Drake here for tomorrow morning.”

  “Cool. That’s one dude I’d like to meet.” Gano smiled at the thought, but kept glancing around the tarmac watching for visitors.

  “Sorry, I need him to do something he’s not going to want to do. He’s very prickly, so this is a solo.”

  Gano looked disappointed. “Yeah, well, what do you want from him?”

  “Drake is taking Challenger out again. He thinks he knows where his super-HTV is located. If he’s right, it will be a very big deal for him.”

  Gano got it instantly. “My God, you think he’s after the same HTV that’s under Chaos, the same one Barbas is working.”

  “I do, and I also think he’ll use a two-man sub he has to explore it. I have to persuade him to take me along.”

  “Why is that a problem?”

  “He’ll want to keep the location of the HTV secret.”

  “Since you hate tight spaces, which would include a midget sub”—he tugged on his mustache—“this must be about Barbas.”

  “It’s about Barbas and Renatus, and what we saw and didn’t see on Chaos. It all tells me Barbas is about to do something that could have very bad consequences for a lot of people. He’ll never let me back on Chaos, and I have no other source of information. The only thing I can do is go down deep, inspect his seabed operations, and figure it out from there.”

  Gano stopped looking around the landing strip and stared at Jack. “You are a genuine lunatic.”

  Jack chuckled. Gano had no idea how worried he was about Barbas. “I need the camera you used aboard Chaos. How many images did you take?”

  “Maybe fifty, but I ain’t Ansell Adams, you know.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I want you to divide the images in the camera. Put ten shots that show various machines in one file and all the rest in another so I can access them separately.”

  “I’ll get ’er done.” He patted the wing of his plane. “But since we’re staying in Astoria overnight, I’ll have to stay aboard and keep an eye on my baby.”

  “We’ll both stay, sleep in shifts.”

  “Won’t be so bad. There’s one thing I never leave home without and that’s good rum. And I have a bag of Lance cheese crackers, a can of cashews, crunchy peanut butter—plenty of stuff for a well-rounded meal. Did I mention the rum?”

  After Gano had pulled his emergency rations together, they sat side by side in the plane. “Time to invite Patsy Cline to join us for dinner.” He turned up the volume of his iPod stereo. Then he poured Captain Morgan dark rum and offered a toast: “To life, love, and loot.”

  Before long, rum circulating through his brain, Gano began to muse about the nature of life. That soon brought him to recalling an adventure in a faraway place. “And there I was . . .”
/>
  With Gano’s tall tale and Patsy’s love laments in the background, Jack’s eyes kept scanning the tarmac for townies sneaking up in the dark. He’d hoped Gano’s trip to Ironbound would help him see inside the Chaos Project, but it hadn’t. Unless he could dig out more information, he was defeated. If Drake turned him down, he had nowhere else to go.

  Chapter 16

  July 22

  8:00 a.m.

  Astoria

  JACK PAUSED ON the Astoria wharf about fifty yards away from where Challenger was tied up, gently rolling with the swells. Challenger looked like a powerful working boat, maybe eighty feet long at the water line, her gray steel hull built to survive pounding storms. The large number of antennae, radars, and several electronic devices he couldn’t identify also gave her the air of a research vessel. A rugged Zodiac with a hefty silver Honda outboard engine was lashed to the cabin top. A compact helicopter landing platform was cantilevered about fifteen feet beyond the deck aft. Challenger was shipshape in every respect.

  Steve Drake stood on deck in twill shorts, a navy blue shirt with a Challenger logo, and a broad-brimmed hat with a chin cord. Wiry, not more than five and a half feet tall, he pulled off his wraparound sunglasses and squinted in Jack’s direction.

  “Jack Strider requesting permission to come aboard.” He liked using the Navy terminology.

  “Strider. Hell, man, permission granted. Come on up here.”

  As they shook hands, Jack noticed Drake’s knobby knuckles, then his bright blue eyes, and skin that looked like tanned leather. “I want to thank you in person for finding Aleutian. Now the families of the crewmembers know where the ship is and that a methane burp was likely what sank her. They can handle that a lot better than the other possibilities.”

  “It’s a damn shame. I admire people who take on causes like Greenpeace. Glad I could help. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s serious.”

  “I got that from your tone on the phone. Let’s sit out here on deck. Hey, Jeff,” he shouted to a man at work nearby, “bring us coffee, then give us some space.”

  With coffee in hand, and having talked about weather and sea conditions for a couple of minutes, Jack said, “When I asked you to search for Aleutian you said you couldn’t because of other commitments. But as soon as you focused on the latitude and longitude where she was last reported, you changed your mind and accepted. Then you made a second search at no charge to Greenpeace, because you intended to combine it with a search for a giant HTV. I assume you were searching not far from Aleutian, but you didn’t say exactly where.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Instead of answering, Drake picked up a short length of cord from the deck and swiftly tied the ends together. He untied it and did it again using a more intricate knot.

  “It’s no coincidence,” Jack went on, “that you brought Challenger here to Astoria instead of going back to San Francisco. That tells me you think you’re close to finding the HTV you’ve been looking for.”

  “What’s that to you? Just being nosy?”

  “It’s much more than that. In a moment I’m going to make you a proposal, but first I have one question. What do you know about the mining platform owned by Petros Barbas?”

  “I know I’ll kick his butt if I ever see him.”

  Jack wondered whether the diminutive Drake knew how burly Barbas was.

  “I have good reason,” Drake continued. “Challenger was about ten miles from Barbas’s platform when our sensors picked up signals that might indicate the presence of a big HTV. Right then, this big-ass helicopter showed up. Couldn’t have come from anywhere but that platform. On its loudspeaker some donkey-brain ordered me to get my ass out of there. I had no intention of getting run off, so I flipped him the finger and kept steaming ahead. About a minute later, the SOB fired a machine gun salvo dead ahead of us and then another one so close it threw spray on our bow. I have enough weapons aboard Challenger to fend off a few pirates, but that was a fight I couldn’t win. I did a slow U-turn.”

  “Good thing. That was a Kamov Ka-52 attack helicopter. It can sink a Navy destroyer.”

  Drake glared. “How do you know what it was?”

  “I was on that platform about a week ago because Barbas was a client of mine. That’s where I saw it.”

  Anger flared in Drake’s eyes.

  “Relax. I said he was a client. No longer. In fact, I’d call him an enemy. Now, will you get me a map of the northeast Pacific, say from the California-Oregon line up to Vancouver?” Drake handed it to him within minutes. “Do you mind if I make a few marks on it?” Drake nodded assent. “This first X is where you located Aleutian on the bottom. This second X is where my associate, Gano LeMoyne, was flying when he was bird-dogged by a helicopter on patrol. And this last X is the location of Barbas’s platform. Connected, those three Xs form a small triangle.” He looked from the map to Drake. “I believe you have a mark on another map that shows where you think your super-HTV is located, and I’ll bet you $10,000 it’s in or near my triangle.”

  Jack continued before Drake could interrupt. “Now here’s the piece of the puzzle I have that you don’t. Barbas told me there’s a hydrothermal vent beneath that platform. And since it generates the massive volume of minerals Barbas is extracting, it must be enormous.”

  Drake’s attention was riveted on him.

  “So I put together what I know about Barbas and the HTV he’s exploiting for his mining operation, and your calculations about the location of the HTV you’re hunting. My conclusion is that Barbas’s HTV and the one you’re looking for are the same. That’s why I’m here.”

  This was the crucial moment. Knowing there was a giant HTV beneath Barbas’s platform should definitely motivate Drake to get there fast. He’d expected Drake to be elated that his search was over; his prize was within reach. But something in Drake’s face gave him a dark premonition it might not work out that way.

  “You could have told me this on the phone.” Drake’s voice was controlled, no joy, no gratitude, nothing.

  “I told you I had a proposal. I came here to make it in person.” The sun had risen enough that Drake’s eyes, under the broad brim, were shaded and unreadable. “Now that I’ve told you where that HTV is, you’ll go there as soon as you can. I want to go there with you.”

  “Go with me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The first time we talked on the phone, you mentioned the two-man submarine you own. That’s probably it hanging under canvas from the starboard davits.” He pointed. “It’s the right dimensions: cylindrical, about eighteen feet long.”

  Drake’s mouth tightened. He’d probably regretted telling Jack about the sub as soon as he hung up. Now he was wondering whether he could get away with denying there was a sub under the canvas.

  Listen,” Jack said, “you and I have a common interest. We both need to see what Barbas is doing down there on the seabed.”

  “What difference does that make to you?” Drake looked suspicious. “You said he’s an ex-client.”

  “I’m sure he’s doing more down there than mining minerals. I have to go down, inspect what he’s doing, and figure it out. My research and my gut tell me it’s very dangerous,”—he decided to stick the needle in—“including to the hydrothermal vent. That should concern you because you think it’s so special.”

  “It is special. Emissions from an HTV are very faint, easy to miss or misinterpret, but my sensors picked up readings from quite a distance. That means those emissions are much stronger than any I’ve seen before. It’s one big son of a bitch.”

  “Then you need to find out if this is the HTV you’re looking for and, if it is, whether what Barbas is doing will damage it. We can both get what we want.”

  “Oka
y, I do have a sub, Pegasus, and I am going to make a reconnaissance dive. I’m not doing this for money like Barbas. All I care about is science. If my theories about this hydrothermal vent are correct, they will start a revolution in how we view this planet. There are only a handful of people who know as much about HTVs as I do.” He tucked his chin and looked up at Jack from beneath thick eyebrows. “You’re not one of them.”

  Jack saw an opening. “Is Dr. Renatus Roux one of those people?”

  “Renatus! How did you hear about that weirdo?”

  “I didn’t just hear about him. I’ve talked with him. He’s chief scientist on Barbas’s platform.”

  He sensed a firestorm inside Drake’s brain as he processed the meaning of Renatus working so close to the HTV. He looked as grim as Ahab hearing that some stranger was about to kill Moby Dick.

  “Barbas and Renatus,” Drake said in a pensive tone. “That has to be one of the oddest couples in history. Tell me this. Was all of the equipment you saw on that platform mining stuff, or was any of it different, out of place?”

  He was fishing for something that might be related to the HTV. “Give me an example.”

  “Like a miniature submarine, for Christ’s sake.”

  That gave him another edge. “Not sure, but my friend secretly took photos as we toured the platform. But they might not show you anything helpful, so forget it.”

  He knew Drake wouldn’t forget it. Renatus was one of the “handful of people.” He also had unlimited financing and was after that HTV. Drake would see him as a serious foe.

  “Damn it. How soon can I see those photographs?”

  He took Gano’s camera out of his pocket. “Some of them are in this camera.” He opened the smaller folder and showed the first image on the monitor. “Take a look at all ten.”

  Drake studied them closely.

  “What do they tell you?”

  “Most of the equipment could be used for mining or processing, but these last three are different. They are tools used in oil drilling. Doesn’t make sense. Where are the rest of the photos?”